


Comprendre

by emmawicked



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Character Study, First Dates, First Kiss, Flirting, M/M, Season/Series 01, Sharing a Bed, Will Graham is a Tease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-23 17:04:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17687441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmawicked/pseuds/emmawicked
Summary: Will wonders what it's like to be understood.





	Comprendre

**Author's Note:**

  * For [witheachsunrise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/witheachsunrise/gifts).



Will doesn’t consider himself lonely by any means. Alone, perhaps. But not lonely. Loneliness implies expectation of company, and Will hasn’t had that in decades. He is content in his isolation of bloody dreams and damp sheets and solitary fishing trips.

Occasionally though, Will reflects while reclining in an armchair across from Dr. Lecter, he is not alone. Now more than ever.

“Will? Is your mind elsewhere today?” Hannibal’s voice carries a hidden rebuke.

“‘Sorry, Doctor. I’m just tired.”

“I have no doubt. Your sleep schedule has much to improve.”

“Critiquing my sleep schedule now? What’s next, my grooming regimen?

“I would never dream to be that presumptuous.”

“No.” A faint smile stretches across Will’s lips. “I doubt you would. That would be _rude_.”

“Lacking in etiquette, at the very least.”

“Do you ever "lack in etiquette”, Doctor?”

Hannibal’s lips quirk upwards. “Hardly. I try not to make a habit of it.”

“But you are, occasionally, rude?”

“Not often,” he says, “And never in polite company. Which is, in your case, what you are doing.”

“How so?”

“Some may consider deflecting rude. Certainly, some would consider drifting into your own thoughts while spending time with another, quite rude indeed.”

“That would make you polite company.”

“Oh? What else would I be.”

“A friend.”

Hannibal pauses, a heartbeat too long and Will feels the silence dragging on his skin. He rubs the back of his neck, feeling overheated in the claustrophobic room.

Before Will can take back his words, Hannibal speaks. “Just a friend, Will?”

Will stills. “What else would you be?”

“What do you want this to be?” Hannibal counters. “Just a friendship?”

“I- I never expected this to be anything beyond a friendship. Wait- is that what we’ve been doing? You bringing me breakfast, the outings… Working together? This has all been a…” Will can’t bring himself to say the word.

“A wooing, of a sort,” Hannibal supplies, “I wasn’t certain anything would come of it; I would have been happy being your coworker and friend.”

“And therapist.” Will drums his fingers on the arm of the chair, hunched in over himself.

“And therapist,” he agrees.

Will bolts up from his seat and forces himself to wander- not pace- around the room.

“I’m not sure if I can handle… whatever this is right now, doctor.”

Hannibal eyes him, tracking his movements around the room. Sometimes Will wonders what happened to him that made his gaze so cold and calm. Other times, he doesn’t want to know.

“I am, of course, willing to go at whatever pace you set.”

“And what if I’m never ready?”

“Then I shall remain content being your friend.”

Will stops in his tracks. “You would do that?” He asks, voice full of incredulity, “Wait for me?”

Hannibal gets up from his chair and moves closer to him, as if afraid he would scare him away.

“Will, I will wait for you however long I need to, be it a month or a hundred years.”

“Seems like a long time to wait.”

“You are worth it.”

His hand reaches out to clasp him by the arm. Will’s brain stills as he catalogs the softness of Hannibal’s jacket. The warmth of his hand. The musk of his aftershave.

“Some would disagree with you.”

“Many have overlooked your particular brand of excellence. It is a tragedy, yet one I am grateful for.”

“Oh?”

“Had people appreciated you more, perhaps fate would never have brought you to me.”

“Sounds kinda greedy to me.”

“I am, at times, selfish,” Hannibal admits, “Particularly with you.” His hand reaches up to brush against the side of Will’s face before stepping away.

“I feel like I should take that as a red flag.”

“You may, of course, take it as you wish.”

One glance at the clock tells Will that his hour went far longer than he was allotted.

“I should go.”

Hannibal looks at him in silence, the warmth from his hand only just starting to fade from Will’s arm.

“Yes,” he says after a moment, “Perhaps you should.”

Ouch. Will didn’t know what he was expecting as he gathers his winter jacket, but it wasn’t that. He nods stiffly to Hannibal as he leaves through the private exit.

“Will, I hope to see you tomorrow. Are you free for dinner?”

Will pauses.

“Yes. Pick me up?”

“Of course.”

The drive back home is long and cold without Hannibal. Even though, as Will reminds himself, he had never driven to his house with Hannibal after therapy before. There was no reason to start now. And yet, he’s filled with a strange tight feeling in his chest, lessened only by the fact that in less than twenty-four hours he would see him again. Will isn’t sure when he started marking his day by Hannibal’s presence. He’s definitely sure that he doesn’t want to know the reason behind it. Some things, he believes, are better left in the dark.

*

Hannibal is perfectly on time, as always. Will’s starting to think he has a superpower. More likely, he knows, is that he plans out his route as meticulously as he plans out his meals. Will doesn’t have that strength of will, and is perpetually five minutes behind.

“One minute,” he calls, “I’m almost ready.” Shit, should he be wearing a tie? Will wouldn’t be surprised if Hannibal took them to a formal-wear restaurant. Hastily, he selects one of his ties, lacking any visible stains.

“Do not worry. I am enjoying making friends with your dogs.”

Will finishes tying a Half-Windsor and steps into the living room. Hannibal, in all his finery and dry-clean only suit, is surrounded by a swarm of dogs. They pay him rapt attention as he tosses them bits of sausage. Will suspects he cooked it just for them.

“That’s called bribery, you know.”

“I prefer to think of it as a gift.”

“Is that what this is? A gift?”

Hannibal doesn’t hesitate, leaving no room for misinterpretation. “Definitely not. If anything, I am intrusion to your life.”

“A tumor.”

Hannibal’s eyes glitter. “One could say that, yes.”

“Perhaps I should just cut you out completely.”

“Ah,” Hannibal says, rising from the dog-hair covered couch, “Then you would miss the pleasure of the new restaurant I have selected. I’m told they have wonderful Charlotte Russe.” 

“I guess you can stay, then.”

“I’m honored.”

Hannibal’s car is warm, heat emanating from the leather seats. Real leather. Not the fake stuff in Will’s own car, stained by a decade’s worth of coffee spills and takeout. It smells better than Will’s car as well, rich and warm. Will remembers the scent of Hannibal’s aftershave when he stood before him, holding onto his arm like he was Will’s anchor to reality. Rarely before, had he been so close to him. Close enough to reach out and…

“Will? Are you quite alright?”

Will blinks. “Sorry. Didn’t sleep that well.”

“Nightmares?”

“You could say that.” Will isn’t quite sure if having hallucinations of the man he killed counted as a nightmare when he was very much awake. Isn’t quite sure if he’s just stressed or losing his mind. Isn’t sure which is better.

“Have you ever been out of the country, Will?”

“Only once, and it was just to Canada for a case.”

“I think you would appreciate Florence. It has a lovely seasonal market I used to visit in my youth.” As Hannibal launches into a flowery description of a place Will has never been and probably never will, he gets caught up in the scent of lilacs and the roughness of the sandstone buildings. Will can picture the looming cathedrals with red and gold tops as clearly as he can see the quiet contentment on Hannibal’s face. 

It’s only when they arrive at _La bonne vie_ that Will realizes that Hannibal had been distracting him.

“You know you don’t have to do that,” Will says as Hannibal opens his door.

“‘Have to’ is a relative term. I am not physically forced to open this door for you, but it is something that I would like to do if you allow me.”

“I think I would allow you to do a lot of things.”

“Oh?” Hannibal’s eyebrows rise in a perfect mimicry of human surprise.

“I didn’t mean like that.”

“A freudian slip.”

Will flushes and shuffles his feet into the restaurant. The interior makes him glad he wore a tie. The decor is tastefully done in jewel tones with dark wood and dim, warm lighting.

As the hostess walks them to their table, Hannibal’s hand lies warm on the small of Will’s back. If it were anyone else, he would be annoyed. He has that thought a lot when he’s around Hannibal.

“Not cooking for me today?”

“I thought you would appreciate the gesture.”

“And what’s that?”

“Not having you trapped, alone in my home.”

“Offering me the opportunity to escape.”

Hannibal hums as he opens his menu. “Exactly.”

Strangely, Will doesn’t feel the urge to take Hannibal up on his offer. He doesn’t get the chance to respond to Hannibal when their waiter arrives.

“A Bordeaux for the table, if you would.”

Will takes a sip of the water the waiter places on the table, if only to have something to do with his hands. He rests his fingers against the glass, already slippery with condensation. Hannibal looks at him. Sees him. His eyes are dark and hungry and Will never wants to escape. He has the feeling that if he gave in to Hannibal, he wouldn’t let him go. He doesn’t know whether that frightens or excites him.

“What will you be having this afternoon?”

Will blinks as the waiter addresses him. He orders one of the few things on the menu he can pronounce. His french has faded in the years since New Orleans, crumbling like the city into the waters of the past.

“Do you ever regret the things you’ve done in the past?”

“I try not to regret the choices I’ve made.”

“I’m not hearing a “no”, doctor.”

Hannibal hums. “Regret would mean I had a choice in my circumstances. Often, the only choice is to let it consume us or move on.”

“And you moved on.” It isn’t a question.

“Yes. Did you?”

“Considering I’m not on a fishing boat in the middle of the Atlantic, I’d like to think I’ve moved on.”

“I believe we have both progressed past our roots.”

Will thinks it would be easy to be consumed by Hannibal. He doesn’t think he can progress past him now. Or if he ever could. Perhaps Hannibal changed his life from the minute he walked into it, with Will none the wiser. Worst of all, Will doesn’t think he minds the intrusion.

Hannibal steers the conversation to the lighter topic of murder and mayhem. In return, Will tells him of his new case and relaxes before the food arrives.

“Jack wants to know if it’s a one-off incident of it’ll happen again.”

“Will he?”

“Maybe. It was violent, but impersonal. The killer didn’t have any sort of connection to the victim and it didn’t feel like he was using him as a surrogate.”

Hannibal hums and swirls the wine in the open-mouthed glass. “Perhaps you’ll know more if he kills again.”

“Most likely. He’ll get sloppy eventually.”

“Do all killers “get sloppy”?”

Will thinks back on all the crime scenes he’s seen in his life. He wants to say yes, yes they do. But then he sees a bloodied stag and horns and darkness and he wonders…

“So far, they do,” he finally answers.

“But you leave the possibility of change?”

“There are no rules that are always one hundred percent right. Human nature is… inexact. Difficult to understand.”

“Perhaps for some people. Most, I confess, are less than complex.”

A smile tugs at Will’s lips. “Are you talking about the BYU or your patients, doctor?”

“Would it be terribly rude if I said both?”

Will laughs and almost chokes. “I won’t tell.”

“I should hope not.”

“Do you consider yourself difficult to understand?”

For a moment, Hannibal looks almost wistful. “To many, yes. I have hope that someone will, eventually.”

“Who?”

Hannibal looks at him over the rim of his glass. “I believe you know the answer to that question.”

Will wonders what it’s like to be understood. He lives in the minds of so many people. Criminals. He wonders if there’s anything left of Will Graham to be understood or if his persona is just a patchwork quilt of other people’s identities. He wonders if it’s too late to find himself.

“Hannibal, would you like to come home with me?”

He gazes at him and for a moment, Will thinks he’s going to refuse.

“Yes,” he says, “I would love to.”

Dread lessens its grip on Will’s stomach and he finishes his dinner on autopilot, mind on what lies ahead. If anything lies ahead. He sees the gleam in Hannibal’s eye and knows he is not alone in that respect. Will is well aware that he isn’t ready to be in a relationship. But he doesn’t need a relationship to want to feel the press of Hannibal’s body against his, the warmth on his neck. Doesn’t need a relationship to be able to dissect what makes up Hannibal Lecter.

He wonders if Hannibal will be able to understand him in turn.

“Dessert?” The waiter asks when he takes their plates.

“No, thank you.”

They don’t exit the restaurant in a rush. Hannibal leisurely redresses in his coat and Will tugs at his tie. As they walk back to the car, Hannibal’s hand rests on Will’s back. The steading warmth helps ground him in the present. His hand stays on Will’s throughout the long drive back.

“Do you want coffee?” Will asks as he lets the dogs out to roam. It’s dark, but they know better than to stray too far from the house when it’s night.

“Yes, thank you.”

Will’s hands shake as he puts the coffee pot on. Ironically, he can’t even blame caffeine for the trembling of his hands.

“Will.”

He turns to find Hannibal standing a careful distance away. Far enough away so Will doesn’t feel cornered. Will wants to laugh at how fucking considerate Hannibal is to him. Even when he doesn’t deserve it.

“You are aware that nothing has to happen tonight.”

“I mean, I did kinda invite you to my house. After a date. If that’s what dinner was.”

“It is if that’s what you want it to be.”

“And what about what you want?” Will isn’t aware his voice rose until he hears the answering echo in the thin walls.

“What I want is for you to be happy. I want to have coffee with you until it grows late and then I will make the drive back to my home.”

“You don’t have to do that. Leave, I mean.”

“It doesn’t seem like a smart thing to stay.”

“Nothing has to happen,” Will echoes, “But it’s supposed to snow tonight. Don’t want you getting stuck in the storm for me.”

Hannibal’s lips quirk up in a semblance of a smile. “Worrying about my safety now?”

“Only if I’m allowed to.”

“You have my permission, of course. Only if I can worry about you as well.”

“You already do, Hannibal.”

“Perhaps you are right.”

“I am occasionally.”

The coffee pot beeps to let Will know it’s done. He only has two clean mugs, one of which has a cartoon dog on it. Will doesn’t even remember buying it. He takes the dog mug for himself and gives Hannibal a plain white one, topping it off with light cream.

“Bon appetit.”

They drink at Will’s small kitchen table, side by side.

“Can I ask you something?”

“That is in itself a question. But I will permit another.” Will rolls his eyes at Hannibal’s soft smile.

“Why me?”

Hannibal tilts his head, looking somewhere to the right of Will.

“I’m afraid the reason is dreadfully selfish.”

“Most things are.”

“They are, aren’t they? I decided to woo you because I am fond of your company and I find my life is better in your presence.” 

“But that’s not all.”

“No.”

As the silence stretches, Will starts to think he’s not going to continue.

“All human beings what to be Seen. I have hope that you do.”

“Do I now?”

Hannibal gazes at him, dark like chocolate and murder. “You will,” he says. 

Will feels something run down his spine. He’s not sure what it is.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Yes,” he says after a moment’s pause.

Will leans towards him and presses his mouth to his, one hand lightly resting on his neck. Hannibal remains still, as if afraid Will will dart away at the slightest movement. When he realizes he won’t, he softly winds one hand in the curls at the base of Will’s neck. All Will feels is heat and security in Hannibal’s arms.

“My dear Will, you may want to end this now. Even my patience has an end, and I fear we are nearing it.”

“I don’t care.”

As Will tries to steal another kiss, Hannibal gently pushes him away.

“You may care tomorrow. I would rather wait until you are sure you won’t have any regrets.”

Will wants to be irritated. He wants to tell Hannibal he doesn’t have to baby him all the fucking time. Wants to tell himhe’s not always right- doesn’t always know best. But even as the anger makes his heart beat faster, he knows Hannibal may have a point. He slowly lets Hannibal go, cold seeping into where his touch used to be.

“I still want you to stay the night. No getting into car accidents.”

Hannibal gives an almost-smile.

“Of course, Will.”

“And you’ll take my bed.”

“I’m not kicking you out of your bed, Will. Your couch is far too small for you.”

“I’m not making you take the couch. You’re a guest.”

“You could sleep with me.”

Will raises an eyebrow. “I thought you decided that was off the table for tonight.”

“Not biblically, Will. I don’t want to deprive you of a full night’s sleep.”

“I don’t usually get a full night’s sleep,” Will says dryly.

“Nevertheless, it would be rude.”

“And you hate the rude.”

“Naturally.”

A heart beat passes. “Well,” Will says, “If you insist.”

“I’m afraid I do.”

As they brush their teeth side by side, Will ponders the unreality of the situation. This- Hannibal- was never supposed to happen to him. He’s supposed to die alone in his house. Or lose it after seeing one too many crime scenes. He’s not supposed to be happy. And he oh so desperately wants to be happy with Hannibal.

He can see it, Will thinks as he lies to rest next to him. He can see being happy with this man. They fit together so well for people so different. Hannibal tolerates- no, relishes- Will’s barbed personality. He hasn’t driven him away yet, so that has to count for something.

“Goodnight, Will.”

“Goodnight, Hannibal.”

Will falls asleep in Hannibal’s embrace and for once, dreams of warmth and security replace bloody nightmares. As he sleeps, the ache of loneliness fades away to be replaced by the knowledge that one day, Hannibal will understand him. And even, perhaps, he will understand Hannibal.

**Author's Note:**

> If you like my writing & wanna talk to me follow my tumblr @emmawicked


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